Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
 | I. |
 | II. |
WE ARE BRETHREN A'. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
WE ARE BRETHREN A'.
A happy bit hame this auld world would be,
If men, when they're here, could make shift to agree,
An' ilk said to his neighbour, in cottage an' ha',
“Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.”
If men, when they're here, could make shift to agree,
An' ilk said to his neighbour, in cottage an' ha',
“Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.”
I ken na why ane wi' anither should fight,
When to 'gree would make a' body cosie an' right,
When man meets wi' man, 'tis the best way ava,
To say, “Gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.”
When to 'gree would make a' body cosie an' right,
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To say, “Gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.”
My coat is a coarse ane, an' yours may be fine,
And I maun drink water while you may drink wine;
But we baith ha'e a leal heart, unspotted to shaw:
Sae gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
And I maun drink water while you may drink wine;
But we baith ha'e a leal heart, unspotted to shaw:
Sae gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
The knave ye would scorn, the unfaithfu' deride;
Ye would stand like a rock, wi' the truth on your side;
Sae would I, an' nought else would I value a straw;
Then gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
Ye would stand like a rock, wi' the truth on your side;
Sae would I, an' nought else would I value a straw;
Then gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
Ye would scorn to do fausely by woman or man;
I haud by the right aye, as weel as I can;
We are ane in our joys, our affections, an' a';
Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
I haud by the right aye, as weel as I can;
We are ane in our joys, our affections, an' a';
Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
Your mither has lo'ed you as mithers can lo'e;
An' mine has done for me what mithers can do;
We are ane hie an' laigh, an' we should na be twa:
Sae gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
An' mine has done for me what mithers can do;
We are ane hie an' laigh, an' we should na be twa:
Sae gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
We love the same simmer day, sunny and fair;
Hame! Oh, how we love it, an' a' that are there!
Frae the pure air o' Heaven the same life we draw—
Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
Hame! Oh, how we love it, an' a' that are there!
Frae the pure air o' Heaven the same life we draw—
Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
Frail, shakin' Auld Age, will soon come o'er us baith,
An' creepin' alang at his back will be Death;
Syne into the same mither-yird we will fa':
Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
An' creepin' alang at his back will be Death;
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Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |